“Trainees earn information here,” Hawke said. “Win against me and maybe I’ll tell you.”
Heat curled low in my core at the mischievous challenge flickering in his eyes. Damn him and those eyes. They were still too dark. I wanted to see the crisp blue-green from before he stopped feeding. Wanted to bask in the ever-changing tones of cobalt and turquoise and sky. Wanted to watch his pupils dilate when he finally let me touch him, taste him.
A low growl rumbled from his chest, as if he could scent the desire coursing through my veins that very moment. Heat exploded under my cheeks at the thought, but I merely tipped my chin higher, and swung my curled right fist toward that perfect jaw of his.
It hit the palm of Hawke’s hand, which was a centimeter from his face. Slow. For my benefit or from his lack of sustenance?
Slowly, he folded each of his fingers over my fist, his hand nearly swallowing it whole. His grip tightened to the point of pain as he walked me backward on the mat, and a shot of pure adrenaline and lust blazed through me like a bolt of lightning.
“I saw that coming the moment you decided on the move,” he said.
“Only because I let you see it.” I jerked out of his hold. He stopped his advance, studying me with that predator’s gaze.
“You can’t rely on your powers,” he said, darting an arm out, his fist aimed perfectly to knock my head clean off my body. I ducked in ample time, but felt the power of his hit as it soared over my head. “Our enemies are too close,” he continued, unfazed, as he swung again and again. I evaded each attempt, wondering if he was doing it on purpose or if he was actually that fucking slow right now. “They know our weaknesses.” He snapped his fingers as I whirled backward, leaping up to avoid his leg taking my feet out from under me. “Steel chains and your little disappearing act vanishes.”
I regained my balance on the mat, narrowing my gaze at him. He wasn’t wrong, but I was well aware of our weaknesses.
“I lived there for a month,” I said, my chest rising and falling rapidly from the evasive maneuvers I kept up as he came for me again. “You think for one second that I didn’t understand who and what I was dealing with?”
“You didn’t live there,” Hawke snapped. “You were held captive—”
“I stayed by choice,” I groaned, darting up my forearms to block another blow. The strength of his muscles shoved against mine, and I trembled from the strain to keep him held back. If he was this powerful now—nearly starving—how damn strong was he freshly fed?
Freshly fed from his mate…
“If you were an honored royal guest,” he said, whirling around to throw me off balance. His speed was off somehow, almost as if his moves were as rough as his mood as he stopped just behind me. “Then tell me where you lived.” His muscled arm wrapped around my chest before I could block him, my spine pressed tightly against his broad chest as he gripped me tight. “Tell me so I can find Saint there, so I can carve him into pieces for what he did to you.”
“I’ve already described everything I can remember about the place! And you know I can’t,” I whispered, not even struggling to break his grasp. “They never told me—”
“Then you weren’t a guest.” He squeezed me tighter, enough that a shiver of pain raced straight down my spine. I arched backward, into the sensation rather than away from it, my body reacting to every inch of Hawke’s body aligned with mine.
Hawke’s grip slipped just a fraction with the move, enough that I knew I could break free if I wanted to. But I didn’t. I enjoyed being held by this monster of a male who could ruin me in seconds. And I knew he felt it too, the connection burning between us like a rope dipped in kerosene. He was just too damn stubborn to admit it.
I shifted against him again, the move lighter than a feather, but he groaned. I tilted my head to the left, the motion equal parts submissive and temptation. He needed to feed. Even if he wasn’t my mate, I’d want to help him. Watching him suffer was a torture I never knew I hated so damn much until it stared me dead in the face.
And that’s what it would be if he didn’t let go of his ridiculous ideals about him being unworthy of me.
“Avianna,” he whispered, his lips only a breath away from where I held my neck up to him like the rim of a goblet, poised and ready for sipping, gulping. Whatever he needed from me.